The good again: Left Bank in the Far West Village, where we met up with a genius friend in from Northwestern in hopes of quiet and were actually happy to see the place fill up and reverberate by the time we left — maybe it will make it. And it certainly deserves to, considering the prices, quality and hospitality. I ordered the $21 duck confit half-heartedly, expecting the usual dried-out little leg with some overwrought accompaniment, but this was actually about a quarter of a meaty bird, cooked juicy-crisp and teamed with both a Meyer lemon salsa and a sort of fruit chutney, plus great chunky mashed rutabaga. Zach was flummoxed by the amount of fat on the huge pork chop for $26, but the meat once he got to it was tender and heritage-tasting. And I’d say the only problem with my consort’s house-made orecchiette with venison ragu was the sauce (I can’t stomach deer meat, having had it shoved down my gullet too often as a kid). The $19 portion, however, did seem a little dainty compared with the other  trencherman’s plates. We all shared the outstanding brandade with spicy olives again, and we each got a taste of the affogato, which I would fault only for being a little too heavy on the drowning espresso. The same waiter as last time was just as attentive, and we were spared Whitney wailing on endless loop. WIGB? Soon, I suspect. 117 Perry Street at Greenwich, 212 727 1170.

The reliable I: Fairway’s cafe on Broadway, again, where we headed after leaving Zach’s presentation at MOMA and realizing the ribs I had bought for dinner would take too long to cook but venturing into Holy Foods at the dread TWC for an alternative would take even longer. Mr. London was in fine form at that early hour, ushering us to a table at the window, and the waiters were running hard even with big tables of families, so we were soon tucking into a whole grilled branzino with roasted fennel plus my usual arugula-and-prosciutto pizza, plus glasses of the $8 wines. The fish tasted of what it ate (mush, apparently), but the flatbread with herbed olive oil made a perfect starter, as always. As a bonus, we got “Streetcar Named Desire” on the triple screens with subtitles, although neither of us grasped it any better than the first time we saw it.

The reliable II: Luke’s yet again, where we ducked in after the Sunday Greenmarket and where the main/Maine attraction was just as perfectly executed as the  first 15 times we’ve indulged. We enjoyed ours while marveling that neither of us ever gave a claw about lobster until this place opened. You do get your $15 worth (or your $17, if you go for the combo and get chips, soda and a pickle spear). Long may it run. 426 Amsterdam Avenue near 80th Street, 212 877 8800.